Grimdark Battlefield Rhapsody
by EarthScorpion
Summary: A sight into the insanity that results from Haruhi getting a look at a certain series which is both grim and dark. And in the far future. It would take some kind of "Hero of the Imperium" to be able to counter Kyon's snark. Admittedly with his own.
1. Kyon's Prelude

**Grimdark Battlefield Rhapsody**

"Kyon! Pay attention to me!"

Ah. The bane of my existence was feeling needy. What joy. I might have though that she might have been happy that we were stuck in some alien world with giant ravening alien bug-things. Seriously, how do the bug things get that big? I do know something about biology, and insects have those breathing holes in the side which don't work if they get too big. Something about a relationship between squares and cubes.

"Kyon! This is what we're going to do."

She pointed the infeasibly large gun she was carrying, covered in skull-marks in a shockingly bad example of taste, towards the alien horde that covered the opposing horizon. I noticed the fact that all the soldier-people around us were recoiling from us somewhat. Sensible people. Haruhi was acting rather crazy, even by her standards, and the fact that she had somehow obtained a wide-brimmed hat with an ][ symbol on it meant that everyone around us was sucking up to her more than Koizumi on a bad day.

Of course, the power was going to her head, and we were getting into a horrible feedback loop, which was only going to end with her promotion to ruler of the universe if she had anything to say about it.

Sadly, she did.

At least she seemed to think it was a dream. That was the one saving feature of this entire escapade. Koizumi was even more on edge than usual, wearing some kind of dirty robe, and carrying some big staff with some kind of bird on the top. The general appearance was incongruous with his perpetual half-closed eyes and superior smile. Stop smirking, you bastard. It's your fault we're in this situation, as you were stupid enough to let her see that book about dark blasphemers or something. I don't care about the fact that you wanted to try a different type of game from our usual board games; you should have remembered what happened during the filming of the film.

That last sentence didn't really come out as I wanted.

Evidently, Haruhi had grown bored with talking at me, and had decided to switch targets.

"Brigade Deputy-Commander! What do you sense?"

Koizumi cleared his throat. "My mind fears of great pain," he said, shrugging. He rolled his eyes at me, once her gaze had passed on.

"Excellent," Haruhi declared. "We're going to kill them all and make them suffer for their crimes against humanity. Tech-Priestess Yuki, pass me the loudspeaker!"

Soundlessly, Nagato passed the clunky device. It was covered in skulls, too, and seemed to be venting steam. What kind of idiot would design something like that? It was just meant to be a microphone, for goodness sake!

Of course, Nagato wasn't in much of a better state aesthetically. She was more machine than man. Well, girl. Well, technically she wasn't a girl (or at least a human girl) in the first place. The point was, a truly gratuitous number of mechanical tentacles surrounded her body, like some kind of American comic supervillan, and random pieces of machinery protruded from below her red robe. Just standing there, she whirred.

Not that she seemed to object to the transformation in any way. Indeed, she seemed to be somewhat fascinated by her new form. Several times, I had caught her flexing her tentacle-things, stretching them and waving around them, eyes like pools of liquid helium fixed on the interplay of machinery. There was a cyborg thing flapping around her head too; a baby-like creature with a full pair of wings. I didn't want to look too closely at it, though, as the mane of blue hair it had looked far too familiar, and the way that it was carrying a knife just heightened my suspicions.

Haruhi, of course, was enjoying herself. Well, of course she would. The entire army was listening to her, with a mixture of rapt attention and fully justified fear.

"All right, I'll tell you, so open up those big ears and listen well! Leader of of the SOS Brigade... With an unbreakable soul and a strong back, a tenacious demon... The great Inquisitor Lady Haruhi... Is ME! When they talk about its indomitable leader, the woman of indomitable spirit and genius, they're talking about me! The Mighty Haruhi!"

Yes, yes. Keep on aggrandising yourself. Perhaps you can recruit these armies to join the SOS Brigade, although I really rather that you didn't. There won't be room in the clubhouse.

"And so, we're going to kill those alien bugs! We're going to charge straight at them, and we're going to kill them all! That won't be hard. I have eaten crab, and the hardest thing about crab is getting it out of the shell! And, really, bugs are just like crabs!"

No. They're really not.

Worst. Motivational. Speech. Ever.

"Don't believe in yourself. Believe in me, who believes in you!"

That doesn't even make any sense at all. Whatsoever. Look, belief won't help us. Those things have big claws that can tear you right in two. I like my body as it is right now, even if for some reason I'm in a less fancy version of whatever Haruhi's wearing, and she didn't even give me a hat.

There was a whimper from behind me, from the real goddess of our group. She may have been somewhat deficient in reality warping powers compared to the other female members of the SOS Brigade, but she more than made up for it with her radiant beauty and perfect temperament.

Of course, a lesser being would have been angry about the fact that she was currently only wearing about enough fabric to make a handtowel, the rest covered up with parchment which Haruhi had "decorated". Asahina-san had been wearing some functional armour when we had awoken here, but Haruhi had almost immediately decided that she had been naughty and needed to repent.

Hence the clothing which beat even the bunny-girl outfits with regards to Haruhi's depravity, and the fact that the transcendent Asahina-san was being forced to drag a massive chainsaw sword about as tall as she was around.

Yes. A chainsaw sword. What kind of madmen would build a chainsaw sword?

Well, the sort of madman who would cover everything in skulls, and then build a chainsaw axe, come to think of it. We had actually seen one of those things.

Anyway, the charming Asahina-san hadn't even turned it on, since the first time. In all honesty, the noise was pretty terrifying, and I could easily forgive the fact that it had almost sliced off one of Koizumi's arms when she dropped it.

"Are you... sure?" she asked, truly brave to challenge the Ultra-Inquisitor herself.

"Of course, I am, Mikuru-chan!" Haruhi declared, wrapping her arms around the parchment-clad Asahina-san. "It was a really good idea, this." She looked up at the sky. "And it looks like it's going to rain, too," she added with a wicked grin. "Let's get the battle finished and totally annihilate the rest the enemy army before Mikuru-chan gets _too _wet or muddy."

She picked up the hellish microphone thing again.

"Charge!" she shouted into it, and then dropped it, breaking into a headlong run towards the bugs who seemed to have been provoked by the noise. With a roar, the rest of the army followed her.

I groaned.

This was the fourth time she had done this already. And she was just having too much damn fun to wake up.

I, too, was forced to break into a run. I didn't want to be landed with some kind of fine for battlefield cowardice or whatever charge Haruhi could rig against me.


	2. Editorial Note

**Editorial Note:**

_At the moment I am convalescing, as I recover from a lucky lasgun shot after some heretic on Traxis VI managed to hit a joint seal on my personal power armour. I feel that the time could be better used, rather than feeling sorry for myself, to extend the parts of the Cain Archive currently available to my fellow members of the Inquisition._

_It was, however, with some reluctance that I arrived at some the most peculiar events which I had the dubious honour to be present for, if only for a short period. I refer, of course, to the miscellany of unusual occurrences which surrounded the Third Great War on Teresky III, a civilised world in the Skerpio sub-sector of the Srí sector (I am told that the accent over the "i" meant that the tone should be raised, as if in a question; I ignored that for all of my time there, as did almost all other Imperial adepts that I knew). These events have drawn Inquisitorial attention from all over the Segmentum, and even from Holy Terra itself (mostly over the behaviour of a certain Inquisitor), with several continents worth of analytical papers already prepared._

_However, I was one of the few members of the Holy Ordos actually nearby at the time (well, I was in the Akademe sub-sector when I received a message, which remains in the same indulgently named sector), and so was one of the few of us to see any of it first hand. And since one of the others was the epicentre of the... well, one can only call them events, the actual information is rather sparse on the ground. I am, of course, talking about the individual known as "Ultra" Inquisitor Suzumiya (and I am seriously dubious over whether I should have put the inverted commas around "Inquisitor" too). _

_Let me lay a few facts down straight. I am sure that my esteemed readers hardly need to be reminded of these, but they help to clarify a few puzzling points. I have encountered no individual, in my questioning, who had heard of Inquisitor Suzumiya before her actions in the defeat of the Tyranid assault on Relati II. None of the other members of the Ordos who I have talked to have ever trained her as an Interrogator (not that means much of course; the galaxy is a vast and infinite place). I can find no records of her having ever attended a Schola Progenia. She is not a psyker, and, furthermore, in her interactions with a known Blank, showed none of the revulsion which every single ensouled human being displays. She appears far too young to have obtained an Inquisitorial Rosette. On the other hand, her authority and right to wield it, was unquestionably genuine, even when examined on Titan itself. She remains, to this day, an enigma._

_None of this is new. However, I bring one new and startling piece of information to the table. Namely, an archive, almost identical in nature (including the world-weariness and cynicism) to the Cain Archive. The author of these papers is only identified by the name "Kyon", and he claims (if you can credit such an impossibility) to have been the Interrogator vaguely mentioned in the records of Inquisitor Suzumiya's activities. This individual has been largely ignored, compared to the realms of analysis dedicated to the tech-priestess, sanctioned psyker and member of the Adeptus Sororitas who also accompanied that infamous individual. Historically, the so-called (by those who dignify it with a name) Kyon Archives have been believed to be a fraud._

_However, I can confirm that this is not the case._

_I met this individual. Although they differ from my recollection of events in several notable aspects, they remain accurate in a way which suggests that they were composed from first hand experience of the events. And since only him and I were present for certain of those (although I am, of course, certain that my esteemed readers will check that I did not forge them; I would expect nothing less from His Glorious Inquisition), this is a startling suggestion that they are in fact genuine. Even if what they talk about is seemingly insane._

_As a result, this entry in the Cain Archives is a hybrid, composed of both the Cain and Kyon Archives, interspersed. Naturally, I shall endeavour to clarify points that these two rather... no, exceptionally self-centred individuals, with no real attention paid to what is going on in the background, might have missed, but apart from this, I shall restrict myself to footnotes, as per usual._

_I would also recommend that any Monodominionists among my readers not read the Kyon Archives, least they start frothing at the mouth. I can only conclude that the individual was insane, at least when he wrote them (he seemed sane, and actually rather well balanced when we actually met), from the claims he makes both about his companions and specifically Inquisitor Suzumiya, as well as their origins. Nevertheless, I feel that there might be some truth in them, even if the poor man could not fully comprehend the nature of what he saw. Many of us have heard of whispers of a "Dragon Cult" in the Adeptus Mechanicus, and are familiar with the reality warping abilities of the leaders of the Necron menace, just as it is well known that occasionally ships leave the Immaterium before they enter, thus providing a form of time travel. I must make clear, though, both the authors of the Archives are unreliable narrators, and are not to be trusted fully in any claims that they make._

- Amberley Vail, Ordos Xenos


	3. Cain: Chapter 1

**Cain: Chapter 1**

_Gentlemen! There may be no such thing as overkill, but there is certainly an offence of "Wasting the Emperor's Munitions". Cease shelling that game reserve! _

Commissar Ffolkes, attached to the Whindsaw Royal 9th

If there's one thing every Imperial citizen knows, from the most barbaric feral worlder mostly busy clubbing her neighbour over the head with a bloody rock so that she can steal the newcomer who fell out the sky in a blaze of light (but more on that later) to the highest ranking scribes of the Administratum, it is this; the Inquisition is bad news. Even if you're innocent (and you aren't dealing with one of the "Innocence proves nothing; a plea of innocence is guilty of wasting my time [1]), it still means that something has happened which has drawn their attention, and that can't be good, given the sort of things they deal with on a daily basis. And that's not even getting onto the sort of person who succeeds at being an Inquisitor; surviving long enough to reach that esteemed rank. No matter how pretty, witty, attractive, lovely and intelligent they are [2], they're still a dangerous sociopath who will shoot you in the head at a moment's notice if they believe it is the optimal path for the Imperium to solving any problem.

_{Amberley's Notes: [1] Ah, Inquisitor Lord Fydor Karamazov. I have never had the honour of being in the same Segmentum as him and his tact (which is approximately that of a grox in a china shop, which has had a great deal of contact-detonated explosives tied to it.)._

_[2] I choose to believe that I am being complemented here. }_

And, thus, it has been one of the greatest terrors in my long and distinguished (the first quite deliberate, the second an accidental consequence of my attempts to ensure the first) that I end up stumbling into an Inquisitor in what would otherwise be a normal military operation. Even if occasionally there are fringe benefits to associating with them (or at least one of them), it means that I am about to live in interesting times, and my entire career has been one long chain of futile attempts to avoid exactly that.

Naturally, I had no idea of what I was getting into when the ship dropped out of the Immaterium at the edge of the Teresky system, or quite how interesting and unboring the times I was about to experience would be. Had I known, I'd probably have chosen to attack a daemon with only a rusty silver bayonet and a water balloon filled with holy water, but that event wasn't to come for ten years yet. This was quite a few years into my service with the Vanhallan 597th, about a year (that's a year personal time, not for people who hadn't spent a fair amount of it on a ship) after the incident on Adumbria where I had once again narrowly avoided death on multiple occasions; this time with a side order of total and utter damnation for not only me, but an entire planet.

Although it would still be three days travel to the mainworld, the only inhabited world in the system [3], we'd already gathered for Lord General Zyvan, to hear an expanded briefing for why we had been dragged all the way over here. The commanding officers of the regiments on the ship, plus the representatives of the Commissariat and a bunch of cog-boys who had taken over a vehicle bay and refused to let anyone else in on religious grounds were all clustered around the holoprojector, waiting for the annoyingly tinny rendition of [i]Patience is a Virtue of the Emperor Himself[/i] to stop, so that we could actually be told what was going on.

_{A's N : [3] Well, actually, that's not quite true. Quite apart from the Imperial Navy supply points in the outer asteroid belt (although that comes under the heading of whether you count dwarf planets as proper worlds; my savant, Mott, assures me that you should not), there is... or, rather was a moon of the system's largest gas giant sealed by the Inquisition which would prove to play an important role later.}_

Idly, I let my eyes drift over the others in this room that, come to think of it, smelt vaguely of flatulence. A sudden thought struck me, and I, while concealing any shock like a practised dissembler, tried to see if Jurgen was hiding anywhere nearby. I failed to see my untidy aide, although the fact that the two psykers sitting in the room (the ship's astropath, and one attached to the Faustrian 7,238th) were failing to go into convulsions probably clarified that he was, in fact, absent [4]. With that clarified, I decided to just check if everyone was present, as the Lord General might get tetchy if someone appeared midway through his presentation.

_{A's N : [4] Cain exaggerates the effects of Blanks upon psykers here. My own pet sanctionite, Rakel, normally restricts herself to screaming, weeping, gibbering, experiencing random nosebleeds, and vomiting. She only starts convulsing if he actually touches her.}_

Obviously, my own regimental commander, Colonel Kasteen, who looked appropriately dashing in her formal dress uniform, and her second-in-command, Major Brooklaw, who looked like he'd prefer to be in his usual carapace (which approached mine, so conveniently never returned to stores, in the number of dents which covered it). Of course they would be; I'd left the ships quarters with them. Some commissars would have ordered them along with veiled threats about the penalties that existed for being late to a superior officer's briefing, especially one of such importance. I preferred to stand by the door to the regimental headquarters, tapping my chrono while putting on a look of mild exasperation. Believe it or not, but I've actually found it necessary to remind the young pups who I teach nowadays that threats of violence and execution work a lot better if they're actually necessary. Better yet, in those cases (which you really should try to avoid as best you can, because they're a sign that something has gone very wrong) they'll have more impact, and won't have been diluted by use for meaningless things.

The 425th Armoured were still with us, just as they had been at Adumbria. Maybe Zyvan had pulled some strings to keep the regiments together, I don't know. Some superior officers like to keep regiments from the same world together, because they work better together; others don't, because they tend to get cliquey, and ignore regiments from other worlds. I had not idea at the time how Zyvan felt. Of course, I was to later find that, at least for him, it depended on the circumstances and the regiments, which doesn't help in finding out the facts about this particular case. Anyway, the point about that was that I was getting the results of the women of the 597th being cooped up on a ship for ten months with a lot of fresh, new men from their homeworld, so they didn't have to worry about genetic incompatibilities [5]. Which meant that the 597th's quarters had taken on a distinct aroma of milk and the other scents that small infants produce.

_{A's N: [5] Which are actually a major issue when cross-world matings are taken into account, especially if one of the worlds has been isolated for periods of time. I would recommend that any of my readers **not **ask their savant or tech-priest, as they will explain it in far too much detail, quite possibly using engineering metaphors in the latter case, but instead consult "Brannigan's Dream: A Study of Genetic Divergence and its Effects on Reproductive Success", by M. S. Cegenation.}_

A comprehensive example of genetic divergence sat across from me, of course. The pale faces of the senior commanders of the Faustrian 7,238th stared back impassively at me, no emotion in their purple eyes. They were a strange bunch, and there's no two ways about it. They had a weird stratified caste system which they were assigned to based on their performance in various childhood examinations, I had gathered from their regimental Commissar, who was a good enough chap, although with a bit of a problem with drink. And I could see why. I'd probably have been a drunk if I'd had to deal with those high g-worlders, with their caste system, state-organised breeding, and truly ridiculous degree of militarisation. Hells, they even had the oxygen levels in their area of the ship turned down, along with the lights, and the gravity turned up. Even the solidarity that should have existed between them and the 597th, being both mixed gender regiments from iceworlds didn't exist. I hadn't even had many disciplinary problems which involved them, which was something to be grateful for, as it meant that I didn't have to venture into the dark, cold, high-g corridors where they lived. Their commissar, a bone thin, slightly washed out man, was hunched over his datapad, but gave me a nod when he saw me looking at him. I think he'd have preferred some issues; at least that would have given him a chance to get out and about.

Their absence of disciplinary issues was more than made up for the other regiment on board. A bunch of backwards savages from Dahomey, a jungle-covered post-nuclear war world which we had stopped by for refuelling. We'd dropped off the Kastaforeans and the Tallarns, who were being moved to garrison duty, but in return we'd been given the Dahomeyi 2nd. And, sadly, that was the world where the unpleasantness with the savages alluded to at the start of this account had occurred, when my transport malfunctioned on a regular trip down to the one civilised city on the planet. And, worse, yet, it seemed that they recruited from that world by abducting entire tribes (men, women and children), and calling them "Companies", and putting a local tribal leader in charge as commanding officer.

And, yes. With my "luck", the "commanding officer" was the Dahomeyi queen who had won the fight between the local tribes for me and the wreckage of my lander, armed her elite warriors with the spare lasguns we'd had on board, and promptly carved out herself a confederacy of the local tribes. If it hadn't been for that stale chocolate bar, I don't know how I'd have got out of there. [6] So, to restate, one quarter of the troops on board were a bunch of jungle-dwelling savages whose ancestors had nuked themselves back to primitivism, who had no military training beforehand (beyond the use of the pre-war caches of firearms [7]), and their commanding officer was a barbarian warrior queen who had developed an obsession with me. Sometimes I wonder if there are any other commissars, or, indeed, anyone else who has it as bad as I do. Because I'd quite like to meet the poor bastard and mock them. It would feel quite good. But then I remember that I'm sitting here, a glass full of amsec by a roaring fire, when almost every other commissar I've ever met is lying face down in some forgotten field. And if he was lucky, he shot by the other side.

_{A's N: [6] I got the full story from Cain quite a while later, and it's a lot less amusing that you'd have thought. He'd offered the chocolate bar to the guard of his cell, kicked the tribal in the groin as hard as possible, stole the spear, then ran. Yes. I'd have thought that the story would have been a lot better, too._

_[7] Actually, the Imperium refills them with projectile weapons fairly frequently. Wouldn't want to do without a supply of feral worlders who actually know how to use solid projectile weapons. They're so useful for throwing at Feral Ork infestations.}_

But enough melancholy. I think the point I was trying to convey was that there were barbarians on board, entire family groups functioning as squads. We'd actually barricaded them in their section of the ship, while their commissars and the Munitorium trainers tried to hammer them into some kind of fighting group. There were five commissars with that group; the kind of scarred, hardcore types who'd rather execute a man if that means that there's less paperwork than punishing him. The type who in most normal regiments would get fragged as soon as they got to the battlefield, to be perfectly blunt. But in that sort of regiment, they can really shine, doing the role that the Emperor probably made them for when he put them on whatever ball of rock they were originally born on. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd already decimated the Dahomeyi, though. I was hoping that they might have taken out the queen, but sadly she was still there, eyes wide at the wonders of the holoemittor; that is, when she wasn't staring at me in a way that I found really, really scary.

At least they'd crammed her ample bosom into a uniform, although that hadn't stopped her covering it with trinkets, most commonly made of skulls, but with some added brass. Oh, and she was wearing some kind of warpaint, almost certainly made of blood, but, really, that was almost blasé by now. I've seen Khornite worshippers less successful at the blood-and-skulls-and-brass theme. Frankly, the hardnoses deserved her just as much as she deserved them. Much to my surprise, I was actually hoping that they'd come out on top.

And then there were the cogboys who had taken over one of the hangars. Once you've seen one cogboy, you've seen them all, when it comes to general appearances. Lots of red robes, enough metal to start a decent-sized blacksmithery, mechandrites, the works. Their leader was remarkably young looking, though; a tall dark-haired man who gazed out at the world through two bionic eyes. I mentally shrugged. How old a Tech-Priest looks is very rarely an indication of their actual age; they tend to shrivel up and look like they're just on the edge of death from old age, or go and replace their organic parts with other, younger organic parts just as frequently, at least among the middle ranking bits. The senior members tend to rush to "mummified corpse" as fast as they can, though.

Anyway, the leader tapped his aide, a female with a fringe of pale green hair poking out from under her expansive hood, and babbled to her in that strange tongue which the tech-priests sometimes use [8]. I tried to squint under the hood; from what I could see, she looked rather attractive, if one could tolerate the mechanical tendrils and the fact that she seemed to have no jaw, instead replacing it with some kind of loud hailer.

For no reason at all, I wondered how Felica was doing. [9]

_{A's N: [8] Inquisitorial attempts to translate the rapid chattering noise remain unsuccessful, perhaps in part due to the inability of the human throat to replicate the noises. Shouldn't the Ordo Hereticus be looking into the fact that a nominally independent ally has a secret language, widely known by its members, which we remain unable to translate?_

_[9] A Tech-Priestess Cain got to "know" during his activities in the First Siege of Perlia.}_

The aide cleared her through, a blatantly mechanical noise which resembled nothing more than the noise that one particularly annoying tutor at the Schola used to make when he scraped his bionic hand down the blackboard.

"Ahem. This meeting is called to order."

One of the hardnoses from the Dahomeyi regiment leapt to his feet. In his case he was literally a hardnose; at some point, he had lost his nose, and had chosen to replace it with a solid, and apparently monoedged ,prosthetic. "The Adeptus Mechanicus holds no status over this meeting," he stated, the bored tone in his nasal voice quite out of keeping with the violence of his rise. "We are gathered here by the orders of Lord General Zyvan; as a result, only he has the capacity to call the meeting to order."

The black-haired leader of the Mechanicus contingent then rose, mechandrites waving languorously behind him. "Did no one tell you?" he said in a patronising tone. He had an excellent quality voicebox; the voice could have been real, were it not for the occasional hiss of static that punctuated his speech. This was a dangerous one, I told myself. If he went to the lengths to get a synthesiser that can sound so human, and display emotions correctly, then he must have a reason for it.

I suddenly felt a lot less safe knowing that they'd taken over one of the hangar bays, and were doing Emperor-knows-what technosorcery in it.

"Contact with the rest of the fleet was lost," he continued, bionic eyes scanning over the rest of the room. "They failed to appear in the exit from the Immaterium. No trace of destruction was detected, but that means nothing in the Warp."

I was in a state of shock from that announcement. No, we hadn't been told. And Zyvan, and all the other regiments in the flotilla... gone? Dead? No-one knew, and we probably wouldn't ever know, because of the uncertainties of the Warp. Unless the ships were found, slammed together into a space hulk, of course. The wave of disquiet and muttering passed through all the officers in the room. Even the ice-cold eyes of the Faustrians flickered, and they started babbling to each other in some language which didn't sound anything like either High or Low Gothic. Well, the Dahomeyi barbarians didn't show any fear, but they had no clue what was going on, and were probably confused by all the long words, anyway. [10]

_{A's N: [10] Yes, Cain continues on (and on and on) like this for the rest of this section of the Archive. Get used to his complaints about the feral worlders, because they're here to stay. I did consider editing them out, but they do explain some of his later actions, and sometimes he includes important information in the middle of his textual rants.}_

"So," muttered Major Brooklaw to Kasteen and I. "Why do you think those cogboys saw fit to tell us this now. And why didn't the captain announce this beforehand?"

That was a very good question, indeed. What were the Tech-Priests, and that clockwork god they worshipped, planning? I mean, we didn't even know why they were on board. We'd been briefed on what to expect before we left the last system, of course; Teresky was a civilised world, split between five nominally independent nations, all owing allegiance to the Imperial governor, who was appointed by outside. It was useful to keep them competing, and even in a constant state of low level war, but no one wanted them to escalate it. And we were being scrambled in an emergency flotilla because they had done exactly that, including the use of nuclear weapon. All five nations were fighting in the name of the Emperor, to get rid of the other "heretics". Now, most of the time, you'd just let them fight it out, because a one-world government was easier to administer anyway, but the combination of a high enough tech level to be able to field strategic nuclear weapons along with the fact that the world contributed a notable amount of rare ores to a nearby forgeworld meant that the Imperium didn't want the planet to nuke itself back to the stone age.

So, here we were, with only four regiments, one of which was a bunch of barely trained savages who were completely wrong for use on a civilised world, and a single ship designed for troop transport. Four regiments, and we were meant to pacify five nuclear armed nations, all of whom were convinced that they were right and indeed on the side of righteousness.

I expressed those concerns to the Vanhallan officers, and from the worried look in Colonel Kasteen's eyes, she was thinking along exactly the same lines.

"I know, Cain," she said at a normal volume. Given that by now the rest of the room was shouting at each other, and the five Dahomeyi commissars had their guns trained on their wards, preventing them from drawing the many brutal and primitive weapons they had festooned themselves with, this was the equivalent of whispering. "But what can we do? There's less than one regiment for each side in this stupid war. Let's just hope that they don't escalate it and go strategic, and that Lord General Zyvan arrives safely. And soon."

"You could try suggesting to the captain that he park his ship in orbit over that ball of rock," added Major Brooklaw. "Threatening to bomb them from orbit might be the only way to be sure that they don't wreck the place."

That was actually a rather good idea from the second-in-command. That was the only real advantage we had at the moment; we weren't even properly organised, since the cogboy had juts informed us that the chain of command had been broken at a fairly high level. And since it seemed that no-one else in this hall was prepared to stop shouting or start organising, it looked like the task fell to me.

I got to my feet, stomach feeling like a horde of Jaued beetles were in it (when they tell you not to eat the sausage in a bun, don't). I'd have to start on a strong hand, play my (entirely fallacious, but they didn't know that) "Hero of the Imperium" card. Hopefully, I could calm them down, get a proper chain of command set up, and then step back, another notch added to my reputation without actually making me take charge. I hate it when that happens, because it inevitably means that I end up in front of another Commissariat tribunal, because it's a breach of protocol for that to happen. Luckily, throughout my career, I dodged those bullets almost every time, but they were never nice, and I was literally putting my neck on the line each time I ended technically misusing my authority in that way. Honestly, it's truly astonishing I've survived this long.

"Gentlemen and ladies!" I roared, in my best parade ground voice. "Is this behaviour befitting the warriors of the Emperor?" The room fell silent, and my head reeled slightly, giddy with the power. It was sometimes quite astonishing how the black hat and red sash could get people to listen [11]. "I thought not," I continued, dropping my volume a little. "Now, as a member of the Commissariat, I am only here to advise, not command." I felt it was best to get that out in the open as soon as possible, to prevent any misunderstandings. "However, I strongly _advise _that you sort out your chain of command. Yes, Lord General Zyvan and the rest of the fleet may not have emerged from the last jump. As per protocols, he is to be assumed dead until evidence is presented to the contrary."

_{A's N: [11] Then again, it might have been because the stories of what had happened on Adumbria, despite the best efforts of the Ordo Hereticus, was getting around. Would you cross a man who had faced a Daemon Prince in hand to hand combat, and not only survived, but won? Although, just as usual, Jurgen was conspicuously absent from any of those tales. I do have _some_ subtlety, unlike certain members of the other Ordos} _

I looked over at the other commissars. None of them looked like they were about to interrupt, so obviously I had at the very least their tacit approval. Just as well; if the officers were to prove difficult, it wouldn't do to have a split among the representatives of the Commissariat, as well. I gave them a small nod.

"The standard regulations for such situations apply," I continued. "When the highest ranking officer is unable to carry out their duties, command passes to the next highest ranking, based on length of service and commendations where there is a tie." Which was one mercy, because the barbarian queen was the least experienced by far and so there was no chance of her taking charge. If there had been, I think her own commissars would have carried out the field-execution before I got the chance, and damn the consequences.

Well, that got everyone sat down, and not shouting, which was a plus. I had skimmed over the details of the other regiments on board, and already knew that Faustrian Colonel, or whatever he called himself, was both the longest serving and had the most commendations by far, so there was no chance of anyone else taking charge. This was a bit of a worry; that lot wasn't exactly infamous for being soft-hearted about losses, but I wasn't attached to that unit, thank the Emperor, so that shouldn't affect me much.

I was just watching them slowly come to the decision, when the aide to the senior Adeptus Mechanicus figure, the one who had started all this trouble, got up, and deliberately made her way over to me. There was something a little too smooth about her movement, under that long robe. Knowing her sort, she'd probably lopped off her legs and replaced them with an antigrav unit or possibly wheels.

"The Omniprophet appreciates your assistance," she said to me, in a soft voice. "He did not expect all that argument to happen when you were simply informed of a fact. The behaviour did not make sense."

I carefully did not say anything to that.

"We will be leaving soon, when we are in orbit," she continued, through the gap in the conversation. "We are needed in one of the mining facilities near the south pole." She tilted her head slightly, the pale green hair falling out of the hood as she did. "We would appreciate it if you made a more thorough investigation of what has happened here. This world is important in our supply lines, and it would negatively impact on sector-wide production if we stopped receiving resources. Perhaps you could ask the Governor?"

"What I'd like to know," I said, rolling my eyes, "is what the moron of an Imperial Governor has been doing. "What kind of idiot lets locals get their hands on atomics? They're making this whole place a powder-keg."

She nodded, "Exactly," before heading back to the rest of her delegation.

That was far too true. I was about to be thrown into a tense war between five different local sides, all of whom had far too many nuclear weapons, only one ship from the flotilla had arrived safely, at the right time, one of the regiments were primitives led by a queen who seemed to be obsessing over me and there were a bunch of high-ranking tech-priests on board while no-one knew exactly what they were doing. I've been in much worse situation, but they'd typically involved aliens, psykers, or in one particularly nasty happening, a warp jump which had arrived before it had left.

And that was _before_ Inquisitor Suzumiya and her band of misfits turned up.


	4. Kyon: Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Kyon**

Terrible Mercantile Manipulation

_{A's N: Unlike the Cain Archive, I have decided not to provide commentary in the Kyon Archive. Instead, at the end of each excerpt, I shall provide commentary upon the events described within, with regards how much confirmation I could obtain that the events within had actually occurred and were not the products of a demented imagination._

Once again, I advise most strongly that any of the Monodomionists among the readership which these documents have garnered not read the Kyon Archive. Likewise, the Radicals among you (and you know who you are) are not to take any impression that I agree with your deluded agenda, even when some of the contents within approaches heresy. This "Kyon" is self-honestly deluded, if not actively malevolent and/or heretical and/or insane, and not to be trusted unless independent sources confirm his often-insane allegations and beliefs.

Take any of his delusional allegations with great suspicion.

Really.} 

Finally, it appeared that the violence had ceased. I checked the charge-counter thing on the side of the bulky weapon that Haruhi had forced into my hands, and insisted that I use.

It read "1".

Yes, it was very fortunate indeed that all those alien bug-dinosaur-monster things were dead. Honestly, what were they meant to be? They obviously were based off your standard bugs-from-outer-space which should normally be swarming down the streets of Toyko in vast numbers, but (as we'd found out when that tank-sized thing which vomited that green plasma glow all over the place had stumbled into Yuki) they had endoskeletons as well as exoskeletons, as well as weapons built into them, and their exoskeletons were ridiculously tough.

It was almost as if someone had thought that dinosaurs were cool, and giant bugs from outer space were cool, and merged the two, adding rather disgusting biological weapons as they went. All in all, it was rather overdone, actually, and more than a little ridiculous. Sadly, that was why Haruhi was enjoying it so much. How can someone who does so well in tests, and obviously rolled far too well for her life-stats at character creation, have such poor taste?

Talking of the Ultra-Inquisitor herself, she came striding down over a floor littered with those bugs that the guns of those things had been shooting, crunching as she went. From the maniac grin on her face, she was obviously having the time of her life.

"Interrogator Kyon! To me!"

Damn it, Haruhi, if you're going to drag me around an alien world fighting monsters that would put Godzilla to shame, you could at least use my real name.

"Yes," she said, her veins still obviously flooded with adrenaline... well, more flooded than usual, "I think that was rather easy. Even when that massive cockroach thing showed up, it went down too easily. It's a pity that a real monster didn't show up, like a dragon or something."

That's not what I said! And, anyway, you only found that easy because Yuki did something to its armour. Normally, you wouldn't be able to kill a biological monster akin to the giants of Greek mythology with a shot to the eye. Even from a rocket pistol.

"Stop complaining, Kyon," Haruhi replied, a somewhat exasperated maternal glint in her overly-wide eyes. "I gave you that melting gun, didn't I?"

Only because it was heavy!

Out loud, I said, "Where are the others?"

She shrugged, and I flinched as the air hummed as she waved that sword around. "Come on, Kyon. We're all bored of waiting for you."

What do you mean, bored of waiting for me! I've waiting here for you! And so were they, until you sent them off to get something, and dragged me off. Do you know what that damn sword did to the wall! Please, I'm begging you, Haruhi; turn the energy field off.

She didn't do so, of course, so as we picked our way across the battlefield, all the way to the tank that Haruhi had commandeered, I kept well back. Honestly, it was almost a relief to even see Koizumi by the time we got to where the others were waiting. Of course, the fact that he had a large bruise, the colour of rotting fruit, covering one eye, and a heavily ripped robe, was an added bonus. It's entirely his fault that we're in this mess; him and his attempts to get Haruhi distracted in something new that he thought might be safe. Yeah. Because, of course, introducing her to this kind of insanity had to be a good idea.

But after a small amount of righteous satisfaction over his appearance, my concern immediately went to the poor figure of Asahina-san. She was under a pile of blankets, hair drenched, the light in her eyes dimmer than the cosmic background radiation. Even as I watched, she sneezed.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She nodded, and gave a smile like a sun through rain clouds. "I-I-I'm fine," she managed, through chattering teeth. "Cold..."

"She's fine," interjected the Ultra-Inquistor. "Now, come on, Yuki. You're coming with me!" And with that said, she left once again, red-robed, cybertentacled figure in tow. Carrying a book in her cybertentacle, it might be noted.

"What happened?" I asked, turning on Koizumi.

He gave a shrug, eyes... almost looking nervous, actually, from what I could see of them. "Asahina-san was eaten by a Malanthope."

"A what!" I shouted. "And... she doesn't look very eaten."

"Gooey," the clearly traumatised girl said. "Slimy. Ick."

Koizumi raised his hands up, shaking his head. "No, no. She hardly got eaten at all. And, anyway, Nagato..." he paused, searching for words, "rectified the situation."

"Rectified? What do you mean by that!"

"I mean, 'rectified'," Koizumi said, clearly. "Believe me, you don't want to know."

"I think I do!"

"No, you really don't."

"I do!"

"You don't." He took a deep breath. "Trust me on that. It was... messy."

"Everywhere..." Asahina-san's teeth chattered. "Goo." She looked up, eyes filled with tears. "I want everything to go back to normal. Even in your normal timeframe, it's better than classified information, because of the classified information. This classified information is a contrafactual classified information."

I glanced sideways at Koizumi. "Did you get anything from that?"

"Goo," he said, smirking annoyingly. "I'm merely kidding," he hastily added, flashing a grin at me. "Though that raises a fresh set of questions. Is there a past to return to? In fact, what makes you so sure that we are in the future?"

The laser guns and giant space bugs were a bit of a clue.

"But that is not a clear statement. All that tells you is that we are not in the place which we came from, in the time we came from... or that there has been a massive re-write of history to ensure that the now that was is no longer the now that will be and is now, and yet we remain at the same time and place."

I hate time travel. And history rewriting.

"Well, what do we do then?" I asked. "And, yes, I still remember that this is all, exclusively, and entirely your fault."

Koizumi looked back, squinting slightly. "Generally speaking, things have gone about as far as they can possibly go, when things have gotten about as bad as they can reasonably get."

That doesn't answer anything. And, anyway, you were playing Guildenstern at the culture festival; that isn't your line.

He merely glanced at me, a smug look on his face. It would have been more annoying, if he didn't look like that all the time.

"I d-d-don't have contact with classified information," added Asahina-san, from under her pile of blankets. "I-I-I think my past has been r-r-rewritten by classified information."

I glanced at her. "Was the last word, 'Haruhi'?" I asked.

"Classified information." The words were flat, and as devoid of vitality as Asahina-san herself; she was like a pale reflection of her normal charm. Of course, any Narcissus would be honoured to fall in love with a surface of water which displayed such an image.

"Right," I said. "So... given we have no clue what's going on, what do you think Haruhi is doing?"

"I believe Suzumiya-san expressed interest in obtaining transport," said Koizumi.

And, indeed, when she returned, without a single word of explanation we found ourselves hustled into a grotesquely overdone aircraft thing, which turned out to be a spacecraft thing, as the azure sky out the windows faded to black. Subtle attempts to get Haruhi to explain exactly what was going on were entirely futile; she just sat there in her wide-brimmed hat, grinning like she was about to lead some poor innocent girl through a surreal adventure through a world that made no sense whatsoever.

Oh, wait.

Finally, I just asked her.

She shrugged at me. "Oh. We're off to see the Rogue Trader."

Why would you want to go and buy make-up?

I received a glare that seemed to indicate that I was some kind of naughty student. "No, I said "Rogue" Trader, not "Rouge" Trader. Idiot."

Is there a difference?

"Yes." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Although Mikuru-chan does look a little bedraggled. Even after I went and cleaned all the bug blood and saliva off her. Do you know how much scrubbing that took?"

The charmingly _dishabille_ beauty, clad in her tatters and pieces of parchment (if they had taken damage in her near consumption, it was not noticeable), who sat facing me and clutching her ridiculous chainsaw sword, flinched, a desperate look filling those voluminous eyes. It was obviously that she was silently appealing to me... to anyone to aid her.

I am sorry, Asahina-san. Would that I could have helped you. Your sacrifice is appreciated.

"I think she really does need a make-over," continued Haruhi, her lecherous and perverted eyes staring right at the other girl's breasts. "Maybe something in... huh. Look, Kyon. Mikuru-chan has a little mole, right on her breast. Looks... maybe, sort of star-shaped. I wonder if the star is lucky?"

Yes, of course, I am actually aware of it. In fact, I sort of discovered it. I say "sort of", because... argh, causal loops.

Have I mentioned that I hate time travel, and it gives me a headache, yet?

I wonder if Asahina-san (elder) has followed us to this place? I mean, it's the future, right, so it should be closer to her than it is to us, and so she'll know how to deal with it better. Unless it's in her future, too... that is, her future from the viewpoint of whenever she comes from, as well as the now... not the now-now, but the now-now that we used to have come from and should be going back to, as opposed to the now-to-be that she has come from... that's the now that Asahina-san (elder) presumably spends time in, as opposed to the now that Asahina-san (younger) lives in, which is our now.

Ow. Headache.

Meanwhile, of course, Haruhi had started poking the mole, seemingly intrigued by it, to a backing chorus of Asahina-san's wails and squeaks. I would have stepped in to prevent such an abomination, lechery and evil molestation in a way that knew no limits, but, to my eternal sorrow, we were strapped in, as the craft pulled out of the atmosphere, and so I was forced to watch the whole extended abuse, unable to do a thing. Also, I was trying to work out how the timeline works. Honestly. I'm not lying. I didn't enjoy having to watch it. That would be horrible.

Still, at least she was just trying to get a ride on someone's ship. That has to be an improvement, right? I mean, yes, she won't pay for it, and yes, she'll probably try to take the best rooms, and threaten to shoot anyone who tries to stop her. I was worrying about that, all the way to the bridge of the ship; a cavernous space filled with technology with the same general aesthetics as Nagato, and lots of ornately dressed people.

There was a surprisingly tinny-sounding chorus of trumpets, and a man who seemed to have had a rather nasty accident with a speaker system stepped forwards.

"All rise," he said, in a squeaky, slightly nasal voice which actually sounded rather familiar. "Hail to the Generalissimo-Supreme-In-Chief, Prince of the Western Marches, Monopolist of the Cudgel of the Cognitors, Lord High Princep of the Free House of Ordinator, Bearer of a Scroll of Warranty signed by his Imperial Divine Majesty, the God-Emperor himself."

"That title contains redundant elements," stated Nagato. It was amazing, actually, how the apparent replacement of her entire vocal apparatus with machinery had not affected her capacity for expressing emotional depth one bit. And had, from attempts to get clarification on what was going on back during the fighting, only enhanced her capacities for polysyllabic chains of words (which she might have viewed as an explanation, but which a poor mortal like me had no chance against), by removing whatever need for breathing she had. "It would be more efficient to abbreviate it. As it stands, it obfuscates understanding." A pause. "All hail the Machine God."

Thank you, Nagato.

The faint look of outrage on the speaker's face, such of it which did not appear to be an amp, was washed away of by the appearance of the aforementioned individual. And when I saw him, my jaw fell open. This was for two reasons, and the first of these was his moustache. It was an impressive moustache. Long, thick and luscious, it was in fact wider that his head. There were decorations on it. It was braided with what looked like gold. Unconsciously, I brushed my top lip.

The second of these was that the moustache was attached to what appeared to be the Computer Club President.

I suddenly knew how this was going to go.

"Who's in charge here?"

Haruhi smiled, her smile orca-like; seemingly funny and self-important, just before she rips you in half and eats you. Metaphorically.

"Did you not just hear my announcer?" the not-the-Computer-Club-President-honestly asked, in an almost braying tone. "I am the Generalissimo-Supreme-In-Chief..."

Haruhi flapped her hand at him. "I don't really care. Just give me a ship."

Why ask if you don't care, damn it? If you don't notice, Haruhi, there are a lot of heavily armed people around here. There are only five of us, and, much as it would amuse me to see Koizumi injured in a non-lethal manner, neither Asahina-san nor myself would cope as well to things like laser pistols and pistols that shoot rockets which blow up inside the target.

In fact, I think I'm allergic to them.

The Rogue Trader displayed a "What the hell?" expression and violently shook his head. "That most certainly will not do. I, and my family for twenty generations, have fought to build up this flotilla. To do such a thing... that would dishonour both me, and my house! I most certainly cannot give them to you for free. Do you think I'm a fool?"

Haruhi shrugged, "What does it matter? Just one would do." Her eyes glinted in the light streaming from the screens and machines with blinking red buttons. "You have plenty anyways!" she said, in a more confrontational tone.

"That is..." The Rogue Trader squinted at us. "Wait a moment. Who are you people? How did you even get an appointment."

Haruhi tapped the hat that nestled on the top of her mass of dark hair. "I'm Ultra-Inquisitor Haruhi Suzimya, an Agent of His Glorious Inquisition, and these are Tech-Priestess Yuki, Sanctionite Itsuki, Sister Repentia Mikuru-chan, and the others."

Wait, at least give them my name!? And at least, if you don't actually know my real name, then at least give them what everyone calls me! Seriously! You name the others, but not me! At least the last time, I was Subordinate Two. I was more important in the nameless minion stance. Now, I'm the only minion, and the others are your quirky minibosses.

Even if that's technically true... it doesn't matter! And what do you mean, 'others'. There's only one, and that's me! Argh!

"I command you in the name of the God-Emperor, and the Inquisition: you will give me a ship immediately! Don't give me any excuses!"

The Rogue Trader hurriedly bowed his head, in an obviously feigned motion of respect. "Of course, my Lady, we will be more than happy to take you where you wish. But... with the greatest respect, be reasonable. I won't just give you a ship."

"Since you've said that, well, we have our ways." Haruhi's eyes glared, without a trace of fear. Oh no, that is a bad omen; I'm sure that on the planet below, sons of kings are dropping dead and comets filling the sky! I think... no, she's not getting into character too much. She is just like this, all the time.

Haruhi pushed Asahina-san, who was standing paralysed next to her (obviously, she knew what was coming, too) straight into the Rogue Trader, knocking him to the ground. And with a boot to the side of the ribs, she rolled the entwined pair, so he was pinning Asahina-san to the ground.

"Wha~aaaa!!"

"Oww! My ribs!!"

"Molesting a Sister of Battle? A Daughter of the Emperor!" Haruhi wagged one pale finger (the other hand still holding the man's hand to Asahina-san). "Why, that's not good. In fact, it's **HERESY**!" The last words were roared with far too enthusiasm.

And that was where it went wrong. Sadly, despite his incredible (I would use the word 'impossible', but this scenario involves Haruhi, and she usually views that, subconsciously as a temptation) resemblance to the Computer Club President, the Rogue Trader was a debauched pirate and mercenary most akin to some rapacious merchant-prince of the East India Company. With a whirl of guns, the people that surrounded us were indicating that any moves would be a terminal idea.

The Computer Club didn't have guns, Haruhi, you know.

The Rogue Trader began to laugh. "That... that's rich. You stand before me," he almost spat, his deferential manner gone, "and try to steal _my_ ships. I offered you a compromise. I made accommodations. But you... you had to throw around your weight like some Schola Progenia whelp. So be it. I would say that I'm not going to enjoy having to kill you... but, frankly, you deserve it." He knelt up, still keeping the poor, defenceless Asahina-san pinned under him. "Thank you for the gift, by the way," he added, with a smirk worthy of Koizumi... who incidentally, was very much not smirking, and looked roughly a tenth as worried as I felt. And I was about as enraged as I was worried. I wanted to throttle that bastard, choke him to death. I just had to get him with the melting gun-thing, as soon as he got off poor Asahina-san. And... well, if the Ultra Inquisitor was in the way, it would be a favour to the world. She can't pull the same damn trick twice, especially on people with guns, let alone the abuse she was heaping on an innocent girl.

I was going to kill Haruhi, except the people with the guns were going to get there first.

Surprisingly, our proud and ever-so-glorious leader grinned, a wide, predatory smile. "I don't think so. Yuki. The Big Red Button."

Nagato presented a large contraption of brass and steel from under her robes, which, yes, did have a big red button on it. Which also glowed. Silently, she passed it to our deranged leader.

"Do you want to me to press the Big Red Button", she asked the Rogue Trader. "Also, get off Mikuru-chan. She's _mine_."

You can't own people, Haruhi. Of course, I'm not going to say anything, because, technically, overall, you will be the one which leads to less torment for poor Asahina-san, and a lesser degree of abuse... but don't think that I won't remember this.

Slowly, the brown-haired man with the moustache climbed off the girl, who huddled into a ball. "What does the big red button do," he asked warily.

Haruhi's grin, if at all possible, grew wider. "Yuki?"

Our Tech-Priest stepped forwards. "The button is the end-user interface of a narrow-band, high penetration communications device. By pressing the button, the signal programmed into the internal cognitor will be sent to all attuned devices, and activate the appropriate pre-programmed function," she said. There was a pause. "All hail the Machine God," she said, in a monotone.

"Yuki." Haruhi paused. "I mean... what effect does pressing the button have," she said, a little wearily.

"Oh. The triggered command will induce an unstable anti-hydrogen catalysed hydrogen-to-helium burn in clusters of three plasma warheads which were previously placed in the cargo holds of the following vessels; the _Fugatum_, the _Lucre_, the _Prophet of Mammon_, the _Deus Est Machina_, and the _Apocalyptica_. From the observed schematics of the ships, the blasts have been engineered to propagate in a way such that they will destroy the Gellar Fields, and cripple the main power distribution grids in a way that makes travel through the medium known as the Immatterium impossible until the systems are fixed, with a probability that varies between twenty-four-point-nine-nine-three-four percent and seventy-one-point-four-one-zero-three percentage of utterly destroying the vessel, by igniting the internal reactors of the vessels. Moreover, this system lacks the technological capacity to do so. The cost of repairs and replacing the cargo, including the opportunity cost of profiting from this warzone, are estimated to be four-point-zero-four-nine-three-one times the cost of replacing this vessel." She paused. "All hail the Machine God."

So, there will be an explosion, and it will be expensive, right, Nagato? I really didn't understand that. It didn't help that Koziumi wouldn't even lend me the sourcebooks, as he claimed he had to 'prepare the game'. Why the hell would he do such a thing?

The Rogue Trader blanched. "By the Emperor!" he swore. "How... how... how..." He swallowed. "You're bluffing," he blurted out.

Haruhi flashed white teeth at him, idly smoothing the sleeve with her "Ultra-Inquisitor" armband on it. "But do you want to risk it? Especially since that button is tied to my vitals. If it helps," and the aura of self-satisfaction was getting intolerable, and I spend a lot of time around Koizumi, so that's saying something, "you can check the cargo manifests. I believe all those ships have just received priority deliveries from the planet, yes?"

So that was what you and Yuki were doing, yes. I expected better of you, Nagato. I mean, Haruhi was always going to act like this, but you normally don't do this kind of thing.

I glanced at the red-robed girl. If anything, she was even harder to read than usual, given the profusion of cybernetics, and, of course, the hood, but I got the distinct feelings that she was enjoying herself as much as she had in that computer game against the real Computer Society. I suppose, she got to outwit people, and blow up spaceships then, as well.

Perhaps it might even be called a hobby.

Well, after that, it didn't take long to evict the somewhat-annoyed Rogue Trader, and those of his senior crew who could fit on the smaller-spacecraft in the hangars, and for Nagato to report that the machine-spirit had been taken over (and Haruhi to tell me that we needed to change the logos to the Brigade badge). We still had a mass of subordinates who had to run the ship, of course. Well, they're all getting inducted into the SOS Brigade, I'm pretty sure. And now this society, which isn't even recognised, now has a spaceship all of its very own.

Technically, if one were to ask the school, I think this spacecraft might actually belong to the Literature Club. And, thus, as the head of the society, Nagato. Well, I suppose it's better than Haruhi having it. And by 'suppose', I mean, 'know'.

The Rogue Trader turned to face us, as he stepped into his lavish shuttle. "So... you think you have won this one, little girl." He spat on the floor. "But know this. I will hunt you down! I will have my revenge, and I will reclaim my flagship! YOU HAVE EARNED THE ETERNAL WRATH OF HOUSE ORDINATOR!" he roared.

Haruhi, naturally, stood unflinching. Because she has the approximate survival instincts of a member of _Succinea putris_ infected with _Leucochloridium paradoxum_, it might be noted.

We watched as the shuttle flared its engines, tracking it as it receded into the distance.

"Yuki, well, now that's over, pass me the Big Red Button, please," said Haruhi, taking off her hat, and running one hand through her hair.

Nagato flashed a glance at me, obviously taking my lack of response as approval. In all honesty, I was just exhausted. I wasn't thinking. I certainly didn't want her to do it, even if it would ruin that bastard of a Rogue Trader, and stop them chasing after us.

And if I nodded my head, it was only because I was trying not to fall asleep. It had been an exhausting time, after all, having to fight all those dinosaur bugs. I'm not like Haruhi, after all; I'm not that monstrous, and certainly wouldn't tell Nagato to let her kill all those people. Really.

With a smirk, she pressed the button. Points on the sensors imitated SN 1006, forming rapidly dispersing nebulae. A single command to Yuki, and the shuttle was swatted out the sky by the cannons on our new acquisition.

I didn't say anything.

"Oh, come on," she said loudly, flicking her head. "You know how this kind of thing works. We offend evil person, the evil person gets angry, swears eternal vengeance, sends assassins, bounty hunters, and eventually his own minions after us. Eventually, we have a dramatic showdown in a place which blows up when we kill the evil person. This way, we get to keep the ship, and don't have to put up with this kind of waste of time. I mean, we're the good guys, so we're going to win in the end anyway, so we can do this kind of thing, because it wastes less time."

Yeah. We're not exactly paragons of virtue, you know. Well, Asahina-san is, but Koizumi is Annoying Neutral, Nagato is... Nagato and you're quite possibly the Demiurge. And even if that's wrong, you're acting like a Player Character.

"Suzumiya," Koizumi interjected, "what do you think we should do first? Now that your ingenious plan to get us a vessel has succeeded."

Yeah, suck up, why don't you?

Haruhi, true to form, pointed dramatically at the sky, or, in this case, the ceiling, which was low enough that Koziumi and I were having to watch for bulkheads. "We go... to **eat**" she declared.

"The Eat system is currently 24,000 light years from our current location, and would require us to pass through multiple stellar astrogation hazards, including the Palenu Traverse." Pause. "All hail the Machine God."

"Yuki. I meant food."

"Oh."

_{A's N: Among the chapters of the Kyon Archive, this is one of the more reliable, and easy to confirm that the events had at least some basis in fact. I managed to find a relative of the Rogue Trader featured within, having stumbled across him (purely by accident, in a separate investigation) about twenty-four years, from my point of view, after these incidents. When I met him, he was a broken man, reduced to a single obsolete vessel; the sole possessions of the House. Nevertheless, he still had records, and from the orbital survey they had conducted as the loyal Imperial forces drove Splinter Fleet Atlas away from the world, I have been able to build up a fairly good image of the campaign. For example, it appears that Inquisitor Suzumiya did, in fact, kill a Tyranid Hierophant Bio-Titan, although the local Imperial Guard and Adeptus Mechanicus reports claim that the creature had been subjected to extended bombardment from artillery, which had smashed its carapace. It was, as a result, still regenerating when the Inquisitor engaged it on foot. That was, at least, the only explanation that they could find for the massive exoskeletal deterioration displayed by the beast. However, from my exposure to the Tech-Priest that accompanied Inquisitor Suzumiya, who (even from my observations) took the technosorcery of the Mechanicus well beyond what one of her rank should have been able to do, I do suspect that the individual identified as "Yuki" in the Kyon Archives was somehow involved, even if the precise method cannot be ascertained._

After that, of course, the account deteriorates into madness once again, in his discussions with the other member of the Inquisitor's Retinue, before returning to something akin to reality, with the method used by Inquisitor Suzimiya to obtain a ship. While I have no such need for such crudity (a personal vessel is not exactly hard to obtain, when you are in service as the Left Hand of the Emperor), I have know other esteemed colleagues to use not dissimilar methods, especially when a Rogue Trader gets... difficult. Sometimes they have problems remembering that no-one is beyond the Inquisition, used as they are to the freedom experienced out near the Fringes.}


End file.
